


let your body language set the tone

by plinys



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: “Ava, I need, please, Aves-”“It’s Director Sharpe to you."





	let your body language set the tone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucylikestowrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/gifts).



> so remember how i promised a sinful take on the "director sharpe" smut well,,, after having writers block for like a week, a certain line in lucy's fic inspired me to finish the part i was stuck on and now i have the finished /sin/

“I’m Director now,” Ava says the words bluntly, with importance as if they were meant to carry weight. “While I used to monitor your team, it’s different now, you need to be held accountable for your mistakes. Just as any other asset of the Time Bureau.”

Sara huffs out a sigh. She's annoyed because the mission had gone wrong, because it might have been a little bit her fault, because a member of her team was hurt and while she knew that they’d be fine…

She’d called Ava for a purpose.

She came  _ here  _ for a purpose. 

Because she needed to get out of her mind.

She needed to deal with this situation, not as  _ Captain Lance  _ of the Waverider, but just as Sara - which was why she had asked Ava for this, to turn on that voice she used on Time Bureau agents that had disappointed her, to stand there in her fine pressed suit and look thoroughly unimpressed by Sara.

Ava knows exactly what she needs.

And Sara has to admit that Ava played the part well.

For all the times that Ava was usually the one to come undone beneath Sara, she was also more than able to turn the tables on their usual dynamic when things called for it.

Like now.

“Do you understand that?”

“Yeah,” Sara says, as she shifts slightly in place.

Ava’s voice is sharp, unforgiving, harsh in a way that sends heat right down to Sara’s core. “That’s not the way you talk to me,  _ Miss  _ Lance.”

She feels naked, exposed under Ava’s gaze, as it sweeps over Sara for a long moment before settling on an expression that is more than a little disapproving. As if she had failed to meet whatever impossibly high standard, as if Ava had finally realized that Sara was not good enough for her, that there was too much of a mess beneath her skin to be worthy of anyone.

Sara swallows. “Yes, Director.” 

“You understand that  _ assets  _ that cause trouble through time, rather than fix anachronisms, deserve to be punished for that, not rewarded.”

There’s something funny about the way she says it. Such that Sara can’t help the smallest of smiles from finding its way onto her lips. “What are you going to do, put me over your knee?”

It’s a mocking suggestion, Sara pushes all the fight that she has into it. Stepping too close up into Ava’s space. Close enough to kiss her, close enough to be kissed. 

Ava’s hands stop her just before she gets close enough, hands reaching out to hold Sara’s wrists with a grip just a touch too tight. A grip that Sara would normally struggle against, battling to be the dominant one in every aspect of their relationship, but this time she finds herself following Ava’s unspoken command. 

Staying still, despite the fact that she wants to do anything but that. 

“I have half the mind to,” Ava says, voice low and cold, “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She can’t help but nod her head. Numb to do anything other than give Ava a truthful answer. She would be lying to say that she hadn’t fantasized about that. About Ava’s hand on her skin, about Ava putting her in her place, about Ava  _ punishing  _ her for her folly.

Ava gives her a look as though she’s considering it. 

When Ava tugs on her wrists she goes easily, moving closer, letting Ava kiss her. Opening her mouth eagerly, almost too much so. She melts into the kiss, into the feeling of Ava against her. Something that she’s barely certain that she deserves at this point, but also something that she desperately needs. 

The kiss breaks too soon.

Sara finds herself leaning instinctively towards the kiss.

Wanting more.

Wanting to be touched.

Wanting Ava.

Wanting to forget -

“Strip.”

It’s one word.

A command.

One that Sara can’t help but obey, the second Ava releases her grip on her wrists.

She moves in a rush. Pushing her leather jacket down onto the floor with haste. Her shirt comes next. The thin cotton pulled over her head and abandoned on the ground just as quickly. Her bra is off in another fluid motion. 

Her hand is on the button of her jeans when she stops, looking at Ava, who leans so casually there against her desk. It seems silly. The novelty of it all. Here in Ava’s big fancy  _ Time Director  _ office. Ava looking completely unaffected, there in her finely pressed navy suit. The only sign that she’s even slightly affected by any of this is the slightest hint of red along the exposed line of her neck, the hint of her collarbone that stands out from the undone buttons of her shirt. 

She’s beautiful.

Breathtaking.

In a way that Sara can barely process.

Still not sure how she deserves this.

“Miss Lance, I don’t believe I told you to stop,” Ava says, though there’s the slightest hint of a question in her tone.

Sara knows beyond all doubt that she could tap out now. Call this whole game off, and Ava would drop the serious  _ Director  _ persona, would slip back into the soft and good and familiar and loving Ava that Sara gets on a daily basis.The woman that Sara was crazy in love with.

The woman that Sara is certain she always will be in love with. 

Sara lets out a breath, shaky, nervous almost, before meeting Ava’s gaze, and nodding her head slightly. 

She was still in the moment, she still wanted this, she still needed  _ this  _ version of Ava.

“Sorry, Director.”

“Prove it.”

Sara does. Finally undoing the button on her jeans. Pushing them down her legs. Abandoning them with the rest of her clothing. Her panties go next. The black lace, shoved down her thighs in her desperation.

When she is finally standing there.

Naked, and waiting.

She meets Ava’s gaze again.

That unimpressed look is still there. In the cut of her mouth, in the lines of her face. But Sara knows better. She can see the way Ava’s hands grip tight to the edge of her desk. The way her eyes sweep over Sara dark and with intent.

She watches as Ava’s tongue sweeps over her bottom lip.

That woman’s tongue has always been her number one tell.

“Do you find me satisfactory, Director,” Sara asks, keeping her own voice as level as she can.

Pushing Ava just so.

Knowing what it takes to get her to break.

Just so.

When Ava lets out a breath is shaky with familiar need, and the color that had been confined to the expanse of her neck, has creeped back up to the high point of her cheeks. 

Sara can’t help but smile a little at that.

Beautiful. Always beautiful. 

“Satisfactory,” Ava echoes. The word barely a self contained thought before she shakes her head slightly. 

Sara watches as Ava moves, steps around her desk away from Sara not closer to her. Sara cannot help the whine that escapes her throat at the sight of that. Disappointment churning up in her.

For a second Sara imagines Ava will ask her to pleasure herself, will rob Sara of her touch, as punishment for the mission gone wrong. But thankfully her fears are never realized, and she watches instead as Ava bends down to tug open one of the lower draws of her desk. She can hear the sound of Ava pushing past papers and files before pulling something out.

Something with an unmistakable shape, and a small bottle to go with it.

“Fuck,” Sara lets the words slip past her lips with a desperate hiss.

“Language, Miss Lance,” Ava chides.

“You keep that in your drawer  _ here _ ,”  the  _ at work  _ goes unspoken but is obviously there in her implications.

The fact that Ava would keep a dildo and lube in her desk at work was, well… She’s close enough without even having to be touched, by the thought of that alone.

“The Director of the Time Bureau should always be prepared,” Ava says, matter of fact.

“You get yourself off at work that often?”

“It’s not for me,” Ava says, the  _ obviously  _ made clear in her tone. Though her voice takes a smaller softer note, a break from the game that they were  playing, almost embarrassed or ashamed as though she had any reason to be, “You know how I feel about penetration.”  

Sara nods at that. 

She wants to kiss the doubts and insecurities from Ava’s voice. To reassure her that whatever previous partner judged and found her not worthy, didn’t deserve her. That she only deserved to feel the best of things.

But it wasn’t the time for that.

Wasn’t the place.

Instead she pushes all the false bravado that she has back into her voice, and asks, “So what’s it for then? To fuck your girlfriend on that big fancy desk of yours?”

“To remind her of her place,” Ava corrects. 

Sara can’t help but laugh at little at that.

Though when Ava arches an eyebrow at her, the laugh dies in her throat. 

Replaced with something more desperate and needy.

“Ava, I need, please, Aves-”

“It’s Director Sharpe to you,” Ava snaps.

Sara can’t help the chill that involuntarily makes its way through her body. Those words probably shouldn’t turn her on as much as they did, and yet, she can’t help it. Can’t help but be turned on by this version of Ava. The stern time agent, the very first version of her that Sara ever met.

When she wasn’t sure if she had wanted to fight her or fuck her.

Now though…

Now Sara was more than certain.

“Director Sharpe,” Sara says, “Please, fuck me.”

When Ava steps back around her desk, and beacons Sara forward, she moves instantly to Ava. 

This time when they kiss it is more heated. Hot with need, Sara moaning into the mouth against hers. Ava has a way of doing this to her. Making her come undone with the slightest of touches. Though Sara has been certain to return the favor plenty of times before.

She presses herself closer to Ava.

Her bare skin against Ava’s Time Bureau suit, still on, though likely to become less finely pressed by the end of this. A rumpled suit, to go with the lips that Sara is making swollen with her kisses.

The slightest indication of what the  _ Director  _ of the Time Bureau does behind her closed office door.

She can feel Ava’s hands on her. A touch like fire, pinching against her skin as they move across her body, a hand that rests against the small of her back, pushing her closer, before Ava shifts their position, moving so that Sara is the one against the desk rather than the other way around.

The cold metal digs into the back of her naked thighs.

This time when Sara shivers it is not from the shock of pleasure, but the sudden cold.

When the kiss breaks, it is so that Sara can pant into the space between them, desperate in her attempt to remember how to breathe. 

“Ava - God, Aves, please - Director Sharpe, fuck - fucking - Ava, fuck me-”

“Oh I’m going to,” Ava reassures her.

And she does.

Somehow she does. 

When Ava’s hands move, turning her around so that her front is against the desk, so that she is bent over, presenting herself as an offering for Ava to take; Sara does not deny her. She almost needs the support of the desk to keep still upright. Her legs shaky as she attempts to balance herself on them.

Ava sweeps her hair aside, pressing a kiss to the back of Sara’s neck. The ghost of a sensation. One that Sara clings to as Ava continues to move kissing down her body. One at her shoulder. One at the top of her spine. And then down, further and further. 

Until she stops.

Sara nearly whines. Nearly begs her for a touch again.

Only just stops herself.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Ava says. The softness had returned to her voice. The game slipped away, replaced with awe and wonder.

“You too,” Sara insists. “So beautiful, Ava, I’m so lucky.” 

She wants to turn. Wants to see Ava’s face.

To kiss away the doubt that she knows will be there. The doubt that always arises when Sara compliments her. The doubt that Sara can barely understand. How could Ava not know how beautiful she is? How could she not understand Sara feels like the luckiest woman in the world to get her like this?

A discussion for another time.

A time when she wasn’t bent over Ava’s desk, ready and wanting, more wet that she has any right to be, here in the busy Time Bureau headquarters of all places.

“Ava, baby, I love you, but right now I need-”

“I know,” Ava says, softly, and then more confidently, “I know.”

“Fuck me, Director Sharpe.”

Ava does.

Finally she does.

She grabs the dildo off the desk. Sara listens for the sound of the bottle of lube opening. Almost insists that she doesn’t need it, that she’s more than wet enough, and if Ava would finally touch her she would know that. 

Her patience is rewarded a second later.

Ava’s fingers up against her.

Finally where Sara wants them. Pressing against her core, exactly where Sara has needed her touch. She could almost come right there, from the feeling of Ava’s fingers against her. Just barely pressing into her. Not even fully there. She’s so worked up that she imagines if she let go of what little hold on herself that she had left, that she would fall apart, but she manages to wait.

To hold back the longing and wanting.

To hold back the release her body feels impossibly close to.

“This is supposed to be punishment, Miss Lance, not a reward.”

Sara wiggles her hips, pushing against the fingers that are nearly there.

Well aware of the promise of more.

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Sara insists, “It won’t happen again, Director Sharpe.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I love you,” Sara says. Even though she knows it's not an answer. Not the answer Ava was expecting. 

It’s not the first time she’s said the words.

But as always she’s rewarded with that soft little choked off noise Ava makes. Every time, predictable.

“That’s not - That doesn’t make any difference,” Ava insists stumbling over the words.

Sara wiggles her hips again. “Doesn’t it?”

Ava doesn’t answer. Not with words. She answers with her body. Moving her fingers away from Sara, just for a moment. The loss of contact, before the dildo presses up against her entrance instead. 

Sara cannot help the moan that escapes her lips, loud and unrestrained as the toy slips fully inside of her. Thankful that the offices at the Time Bureau are sound proof. 

It is all too easy to let herself get lost in the sensation. Ava knows how to work her body. Knows by now how to make Sara fall apart at exactly the speed that she wants. Her thrusts are hard and deep, pressing against the part of Sara that fingers can never seem to manage to reach. Sending sparks like lightning through her body. If Sara has thought it was hard to stand up before, the thought of doing anything other than letting the desk support her is lost and gone.

The noises that fall from her lips are a mess, of moans and Ava’s name and that  _ title  _ that turns Sara on far more than it should. 

She’s a mess. Desperate and needy, wet and wanting, coming undone on top of Ava’s fancy director desk, sooner than she would like. 

It’s Ava’s touch that does it.

That tips her over.

It’s barely anything.

Not a touch meant to turn her on, but to ground her, to steady herself, the hand not being used to work the toy into Sara, pressing lightly there against Sara’s shoulder blades. It is that touch that she focuses on. That feeling of Ava, here and with her, Ava who Sara loves beyond all doubt, that finally does it, tips her over the edge.

Her orgasm sweeps over her. A force to be reckoned with. Sara gasping and panting, the pure pleasure overtaking her so that she can think of nothing at all. She loses her focus, loses her mind, just for a moment. 

A moment that feels like eternity.

A moment that she had been needing since that anachronism went south.

Ava works her through the aftershocks, only stopping the movement of the toy and pulling it fully and finally out of her when Sara lets out a soft noise of blissed out pleasure. 

Vaguely she is aware of Ava setting it back down on the top of her desk. But only vaguely. Instead, she is focused on the hands on her. The ones that help her back up onto her still unsteady legs. That turn her around to face Ava. 

The soft and familiar version of her, the one that looks at Sara as though she is the greatest thing in the world, as though she was looking at the very heavens themselves. She’s still dressed in that silly suit of hers, still all  _ business  _ looking, even though Sara knows better.

Sara kisses her. A softer echo to everything that they had had moments before. Slow and easy. Casually intimate, in a way that only they could be. In a way that Sara always finds herself needing and wanting. 

This is her Ava.

The Ava she needed.

The Ava that she would always need.

The Ava that knew exactly what Sara needed and had been willing to give it to her.

“I love you,” Ava says, softly, when they pull apart.

“I love you too, Director Sharpe.”

  
  



End file.
